


Tea, Cheetos, and a Little Bit of Tabletop

by imperialfool



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Boardgame Cafe - AU, First Meeting, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Original Character - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9823628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialfool/pseuds/imperialfool
Summary: Greg and Mycroft are in a class together, and thanks to a boring professor who assigned a report, they met. Greg works at a newly opened boardgame cafe so Mycroft has no choice but to frequent the place until it's done. And, as they say, it was love at first tabletop game.





	1. There’s Never A Dull Moment When You’re Judging Other People

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fanfic, I hope I can consistently update this because we all deserve a little fluff in our lives :)) Comments on how I can improve my writing is very much appreciated <3

The sound of the professor's voice reverberates around the room and bounces off of the walls, only to fall flat on the floor.

There are still a few minutes left in the class but Mycroft could see everyone glancing at their watches, counting down the seconds. Psychology is a very interesting subject, there are so many applications if one has a creative imagination. But even he has to admit that Mr. Manford’s droning in front of the class is testing his patience. Mycroft sits at the very back of the lecture hall so that he could get a view of everyone, and at boring times like this, it’s perfect for a little game he and his brother loved to play. He scans the room, looking for a victim. About 5 minutes left so it has to be quick and easy.

The game is simple: choose a subject, make observations, and build a profile. Mycroft zones in on a red-haired man sitting right in front of the professor, three seats away from the door. There are many reasons why people sit in front of the class; the major ones being poor hearing, poor vision, it keeps you awake, the professor can easily recognise your face, or you get to scribble down more detailed notes. But this one, however, doesn’t seem to tick all of those boxes. In fact, it’s the first time this student sat in front. Dwelling on that, though, is trivial since Universities do not often have seating arrangements. His mobile is as big as his palm and he’s been looking at it since the class started, so it isn’t poor vision. It could be poor hearing, but he looked back when he heard the people sitting two rows away whispering. He might have chosen to sit there because his grades are in danger, so he makes an effort to show the professor that he’s willing to go the extra mile for this class. However, he hasn’t written down anything on that open notebook. He looks at the posters of psychologists like Carl Jung and Urie Bronfenbrenner above the board instead of the professor. So what is his deal?

Looking closely, Mycroft could see a perfume spray sticking out of the left pocket of his jacket. His hands look like they’ve just been playing with glue, sticky and shiny. Most likely hair wax. His nails and hair have been shorn just this morning; he did his nails, judging by its uneven cut, and his nape still has remnants of cut hair and powder. The red-haired man’s got a date! Mycroft smiles to himself and took note of today’s quickfire deductions, he will have to discuss this with Sherlock when he comes home.

His mind was so busy that he catches only the last few sentences from the professor. 2 minutes of the class left. “Multi-axial diagnosis isn’t included in the DSM V. However, it would be good to familiarise yourselves of its function. So I want you all to pair-up, pick a film character, and create a MAD table. To be reported next week. Would you like me to do the pairings for you or would you like to do it yourselves?”

The whole class immediately says No and turns quickly to their friend. _Damn, I knew this day would come_ , Mycroft thinks, _who even does group assignments anymore?_ He is dead set on telling his professor that he would rather do this one alone. He starts fixing his things and is about to stand up when a tap on his shoulder gives him pause.

“Uh, hi. Have you got a partner yet?”

Mycroft looks at the man standing right in front of him. Built of lean muscle and coffee; he can smell the fumes of his two cups of caffeine downed before the class started. Probably a good idea if the professor is worse than the priest giving a sermon on Christmas night. His rockabilly haircut showcases his light-brown hair waxed at the top, with the sides razed almost to the scalp, leaving a unique shade of brown to grey at its wake. He’s got brown doe-eyes to match, too.

Mycroft must have been staring at him for quite a long time when he hears the stranger in front of him clear his throat. “No”, he answers.

“Great! I’m Greg Lestrade. I’m not really part of this block, so I don’t know anyone...is it okay if I partner up with you?”, he seems embarrassed to ask. Mycroft is still pretty much decided on being alone, but Greg, seeing the oncoming rejection, looks down at his feet and became uneasy.

 

“I-I mean, that is if you want to, I guess? But, uh, I’m sorry I asked. Clearly you don--”

“Yes”, Mycroft finally whispers, “My name is Mycroft Holmes.”

“Really?”

 

Mycroft only nods, “When are you free to discuss the report?”. Greg quickly looks at his watch and mumbles to himself;  Mycroft is about to roll his eyes when his new companion suddenly takes his notebook and starts scribbling. “Sorry about this,” he replies, “my shift’s about to start, so I’ll just leave you my number. Just text me when you’re free so I can adjust...or you can come visit me at work so we can start talking about which film to watch, at least”

He considers the idea for a bit. Mycroft still has one last class to attend, not that it matters anyway, the professor is much more of a dunce than this one. He can just go with Greg to his work so they can settle on which film to watch and be done with it. But he’s got a paper due for that one so skipping is out of the question. “Where do you work?”, he finally asks him. Greg gives him a sheepish grin, “At the boardgame cafe just outside the University. You won’t miss it, we’ve got a massive chess set outside.”

 

 _Boardgame? Why on earth would people need a cafe for that?_ , Mycroft muses. “Fine. I shall pass by after my next class. Until what time will your shift be?”

“About 6:00 pm.”

 

Mycroft carefully stands up, eyes locked onto Greg’s. He reaches out to take his pen from him and places it in his pocket.

  
“See you later, then.”


	2. I’ve Got Three Apples In My Burlap Sack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tries to play a board game, and surprise! He's good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooo sorry for updating very late, stuff happened at work. I didn't think it would be hard to write for your day job, your freelance, and then write for fun as well. It hurts the brain, man.

The 4:00 crowd has dwindled down a bit, which is why some of the staff decided to hang out at the back room until one of them is called. Greg has been on duty for 3 hours, most of which was spent standing, instructing players and serving their food.

“Greg! Table 8 wants to know how Sheriff of Nottingham is played.”, someone calls from the counter. If you ask him why he chose to work at the Tabletop Lounge and Cafe, he’ll tell you that it’s because it’s much more interesting than working for regular cafes, less boring, less drama. But the truth is, Greg just has an incredible obsession with tabletop games. He’s been playing and collecting them since he was 10, and now he goes to work surrounded by hundreds of it! Working with a friendly staff and a kind boss was just the unexpected cherry on top of the geek ice cream he’d piled for himself. “Table 8, Sheriff of Nottingham, got it!”, comes his excited response.

Greg straightens his red cap and makes his way to the table at the farthest part of the cafe. With palms clasped tight in front of him, a smile plastered on his face, and his spiel memorised, he prepares to greet the customer when he freezes. He stands there looking at a seated Mycroft, table 8, Sheriff of Nottingham.

The man reads through the instructions thoughtfully, his right leg crossed neatly over the other, his left hand resting under his chin. He’s wearing a white-collared shirt under a blue cashmere sweater, pushed and rolled up to his elbows. His dark washed jeans folded up to his ankles calls attention to the bright red soles of his dark brown boat shoes. In short, Mycroft looks exquisite and completely out of place.

Greg has never before looked at someone with that amount of detail, he’s probably ogling at this point. Then he looks down to see his dusty rose shirt and a marine blue apron; it definitely screams, “I work here”. He’s about to call Mycroft’s attention when his customer speaks up first, “You know, it’s rude to stare.”

Mycroft slowly raises his eyes to look at him, “Are you allowed to play with customers? I’ve never really thought much about playing board games, but everyone here seems to get ecstatic over playing one. You included. I want to know why.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Hold on a sec”, Greg walks to Mike Stamford, their kindly boss who is busy talking to 9-year olds about Dixit. He can hear him talking to them about playing the game as if they’re telling a story through the pictures on the cards. Greg knew not to interrupt, the enthusiasm with which his boss explains the board games to their customers is always amazing to watch. No, interrupting would ruin it; he’d rather wait until Mike notices him.

“Yes, Greg, what do you need?”

“A customer doesn’t have anyone with him and has asked me to play a board game with him, are we allowed to do that?”

“Yeah, of course, we can’t have anyone alone in a board game lounge. I’ll tell Sally and Philip to cover the food service while you’re with a customer”

“Thanks, Mike!”

He saunters off to Mycroft again who seems to have set up the game. “Right, I’m free to play. Sheriff of Nottingham, interesting choice.” Mycroft looks up to him as Greg is removing his apron and hangs it on the chair opposite his, “Really, how so?”

“Well, okay. Sheriff of Nottingham is a deception-negotiation type of game”, he pauses to look at Mycroft who seems really interested in learning how to play. “It’s really about knowing when a person is bluffing or not. We both get a chance to play as the merchant and as the Sheriff. As merchant, we declare goods we want to bring into Nottingham which we will place in our sacks.”

“You mean these sacks? And I assume the goods are these cards. Why are they red and green?”, Mycroft inspects each card in his hand with such intensity, it almost makes Greg laugh.

“Right, well, the green cards mean the goods are legal and red means it’s contraband. You can have five goods in your sack, but it must be just one kind of item. For instance, if you’re a merchant you can declare 3 apples, regardless if one of the three cards is contraband or not. As Sheriff, I need to figure out if you’re telling the truth and decide whether I should inspect your sack or not.”

“I see. I’d rather learn by playing it, actually. Can we start?”

Because only two of them were playing, Greg had to change the rules a bit and extend the rounds to 10 instead of just 4. By their last round, Mycroft was leading, 7-2; Greg was the Sheriff this time, and if he’s going to lose to a beginner, he’s going to make it hard for Mycroft to win.

“I have three apples in my sack,” declares Mycroft. He puts the sack on the table in front of Greg who reaches out to study it. Greg makes a show of testing its weight on his hands and touching every bit of the sack. Mycroft is smirking the whole time, “Really, Greg.”

“You know, for a beginner, you’re actually kicking my ass in this game. I’m intent on making it hard for you on this last round...yup, I want to check it!”

“Are you sure?”, Mycroft asks with a grin. He has to admit that it was a bit unfair to be deducing Greg while playing the game, but he can’t help but observe his body language. When Greg tells the truth, he usually leans back after putting the cards in the sack. It’s the opposite when he lies, in fact, Mycroft thinks lying in general is hard for Greg. He leans closer to the table and taps his feet nervously.

“Now you’re just deliberately making me doubt my decision, Mycroft. Nope, not gonna work this time, let’s see it.”

“Fine, you open it.” Greg reaches for the sack, opens it slowly, and takes the cards out one by one. Each time he lays them on the table, though, he loses his confidence. “Wow, you were telling the truth. I guess you really are just good at this game.”

 

Mycroft holds out his hand to Greg, “That was a good game. I was never the board game type of person, but I guess it’s because of the company.” Greg looks at Mycroft’s hand at first, forgetting what a handshake is for a moment, before reaching out to grasp it, “Yeah, it was fun. You were really good! Teach me your ways, master.”

Both Mycroft and Greg laughed like they were old friends, looking and feeling comfortable with each other. You wouldn’t see signs that they’ve just met only this morning, a few measly minutes after a boring class. That made Mycroft feel uneasy, but he welcomed it. Greg seems to be a good man, he needs more of those in his life.

Greg speaks up first, “Alright, I think we should talk about the project now or else I’ll get another board game I know you’ll be bad at to redeem myself.” He places all the pieces back into the box and places it on the floor. “I was thinking maybe we could watch Mad Max: Fury Road? It’d be interesting to do a multi-axial diagnosis of any of those characters. But that’s just my suggestion.”

“Yes, it would be interesting. The nuclear holocaust will most likely produce intriguing personalities. I also think we can consider Fight Club’s Tyler Durden, A Beautiful Mind’s John Nash, or Precious’ Claireece Precious.”

“Which one do you prefer?”

“Well, in terms of uniqueness, I’d go for Precious.”

“Okay, then Precious it is. Are we going to watch it together or separately then compare notes?”

 

They both silently run through the pros and cons of watching it together.

Pros:

They can discuss the film immediately after, no need to schedule a meeting.

It saves time. There’s no need to wait for the other to finish watching.

Homework will be done in a couple of hours.

Cons:

Where the hell are they going to watch it together?

 

“If we watch it together, would you be amenable to a sleepover?”, Mycroft asks. He almost wants Greg to say no since this will be the first time he invites anyone to his home, let alone invite him to sleep over. It is going to be a doozy, he reckons.

“Yeah, I’m down,” Greg replies almost hesitantly. He can feel that Mycroft’s a little uncomfortable with the idea, but they’ll probably make it work. If this game with him is any indication, they’ll both get over the awkwardness fast. He’s fairly confident about that.

 

“Okay, how about we do it on a Friday so we can have a few hours at night and the whole day on Saturday to work and polish it. What do you think?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Right, will you have work on Friday?”

“Yes, but I can get out early.”

 

Mycroft stands and picks up his things, “Good, I’ll pick you up at 6:00. You don’t have my number yet so I’ll text you tonight, please save it.”

“Well, y-yeah, sure.”

Greg walks Mycroft out of the shop. As soon as they got out of the door, a black car rolls right in front of them and a driver walks out to hold the door for Mycroft.

“This has been great, Greg. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I had fun too.”

Mycroft steps in the car but stops the driver from closing the door. With one last look at Greg he says, “See you on Friday, Greg. Good night,” then finally shuts the car door. Greg watches as the car drives away. He thinks it’s odd that he’s excited for a sleepover.  _You're not a kid anymore, Greg, stop being giddy_.

  
He let out his breath as if he’s been holding it in for a long time and then smiles at the direction the car went, “Yeah, good night Mycroft.”


	3. Goodbye, Popcorn. Hello, Rib Eye Steak!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets teased about Mycroft during a short staff meeting. Then he sees how rich the bastard is. And then there's rib eye steak!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've debated on whether I should put the film analysis in this chapter for a long time. I've eventually decided to just put it in the next chapter. I watched Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire again and I knew that it's going to be hard to write it because I really want to give justice to it even within the confines of this fic. So I've opted for a fluffy chapter because we all deserve fluffy moments right now.  
> ,  
> I hope I did good with this one ;)

Mycroft will arrive at 6:00pm, however, Mike decides to call for a short staff meeting at 5:45. Not for anything, really, he's just joshing around. Ever since Mycroft visited the cafe, he wouldn't hear the end of the jeering and cheering. At first it was cute, he can take a bit of teasing every now and then, but they just wouldn't stop. Not to mention the fact that he sort of, only a little bit, but not totally, kind of like-ish, Mycroft. He doesn't even know him well enough yet, there's just something that pulls Greg towards him like a planet in orbit around the sun.

"As you know our soft opening ends today. Which means Friday next week is our official grand opening. I'd encourage everyone to bring your family, friends, significant others", Mike intentionally turns to Greg when he said this. 

"Seriously, Mike, we've only just met", if Greg can roll his eyes up to the back of his head he would've already,"you're becoming worst than my mother."

"There's a significant difference, though. Your mother wants you to stop moping around and find someone who will make you happy. I, on the other hand, am just a sucker for a fluffy love story."

 

"Who's in love?," pipes Anderson. 

"Greg is," Sally answers.

"Oh, is this the fancy bloke who came in the other day?"

"Yup, he's actually going to be here in about 5 minutes. You ready for that sleepover, Greg?"

Anderson turns to Greg wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, "A sleepover, huh? Isn't that a little too fast, Greg, my man."

"Oh lord, why are we talking about me?" Greg is, in simple terms, about to flip his shit. “Mike, you started this, can't we just talk about the grand opening?"

 

"Alright, let's get back to business. If Greg turns any redder he's going to look like a cherry tomato that's about to explode." Mike turns to walk to his office, but he keeps talking. "So next friday, invite as many people as you like. Let's turn it into a murder mystery kind of dinner party, what do you think? Like a massive Cluedo game, except everyone's going to wear uncomfortable costumes while accusing each other of murder." He comes out holding a couple of folders in his hand,"These are your scripts."

Everyone groans, as much as they all love their boss, sometimes he gets crazy about his ideas. Not only are they expected to serve their customers, they'll have to put on a show for them. The lucky, spoiled bastards. However tedious this is going to be, though, they know it'll blow everyone's mind. So reluctantly, they all pluck a folder out of Mike's hands to review their roles. As Greg is about to open his, a car honks outside of the shop. "Oh, I think that's Mycroft."

 

"Go on, Greg. You can look at that some other time. Enjoy canoodling!"

"There will be no canoodling, Mike." Greg picks up his backpack from the countertop and puts his time card in the machine to officially clock out. "See you on Monday, guys."

 

As soon as he gets out of the shop, he sees Mycroft leaning against the car, hands inside his pockets. He's wearing a medieval blue v-neck cardigan over a loose white shirt, and his slim fit chino pants just emphasises his height. "Hello, Greg," he said, "would you join me in the car, please?"

"I-uh," then he hears knuckles rapping against the glass window, and when looks back he sees three pressed faces looking at him. "Yeah, we should go. Now. Before they all come out." He hurries to the car and practically drags Mycroft inside the car.

 

"Is something wrong?,” Mycroft asks as he closes the door.

"There's always something wrong with those three. Best not to be around them much, it might be contagious."

"Well, that means you're a carrier then. Of whatever they have."

"Don't worry, I was vaccinated," Greg gives Mycroft his widest grin. 

 

Mycroft laughs while mumbling something to himself and then said, "Good for me, then." He tells the driver to drop them off at the house first before picking up Sherlock from John's house. "My parents are currently out of town, so the only family you'll be meeting is my little brother, Sherlock." Mycroft is almost thankful his parents aren't home because they will definitely fuss over Greg. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes can command the room's attention, the model of poise and intelligence, but they are the fussiest fussers there ever were.  _ A flaw I hopefully didn't get. _

"Cool, a little brother. I've always wanted one, but my little sister's tougher than me, so close enough."

The rest of the ride to the Holmes residence is quiet. Both men are looking out of their windows, deep in thought. One isn't sure how a sleepover even works, and one isn't sure what to feel about it. Both are definitely nervous.

Greg is pulled out of his musings when the driver stops in front of the Holmes house. "Oh, wow," is all he could say. It is a manor house that is not quite big as one would expect from nobility, but big enough to leave Greg in awe. It is a picture of classic architecture and modern living all wonderfully meshed to create such a breathtaking design. At least three large windows overlook the landscape surrounding the front of the house, a muted palette of greys color the exterior stucco, the lights outside are a warm white which gives it both an elegant and magical glow. 

"This house has been with the family for many generations, and each one remodels it to fit their preference," Greg turns to see Mycroft looking up and admiring their house. "When my father inherited it, my parents decided they wanted something that blends old-world charm with modern architecture. I think it turned out brilliantly."

"It did," is all the reply Greg could muster as they both make their way inside the house. The entrance hall is just as stunning: a fine limestone floor and a plasterwork ceiling, but it was built low and narrow. So when they entered the main room, the effect is spectacular, it's height is twice that of the entrance hall and the space is vast. "Dramatic, too. Like it's withholding something and it's slowly revealing itself to you as you go along."

Mycroft mulls this over, the house does have a cautious vibe when you enter until it unfolds its full quality as you go deeper into the house. "I guess you're right," he agrees, "now that I think about it, my parents have quite the theatrical flair. They most likely just can't help themselves."

"Anyway, I've arranged for dinner in my room. We can watch the film while we're eating. Please, follow me." They climb up the stairs to Mycroft's room at the end of the hall. Upon entering, Greg easily digests the room they are in: it's neat, minimalistic, and stylish -- just like the man who owns it. The first thing you'll notice is a window that overlooks the back garden, and a desk filled with neatly piled papers and a holder with different coloured pens. The wall beside the door is lined with many shelves holding what looks like hundreds of books. "Have you actually read all of these?", he asks. 

Mycroft walks over to his shelves, hands going through each spine as he does. Then he stops to sit at a loose back couch in the middle of the room, "No, I haven't. Just a couple more, I think."

Greg joins Mycroft at the couch, there's a  table in front where, presumably, their dinner now sits. Two plates of rib eye steak, mashed potatoes with gravy and mixed vegetables at the side. And the plates are still hot, too. "I'm not sure if this is appropriate sleepover-slash-film-watching food, but I'm quite famished. I hope this is okay."

"Are you kidding me right now? Like, who are you?" At this, Mycroft just cannot help but laugh, he picks up his knife and fork and starts carving the steak. "Come on, we have a long night of work ahead of us, might as well enjoy it."

Greg proceeds to cut his food as well, an audible sigh comes out of him as he takes his first bite. "I can't believe I'm eating steak to watch something for homework."

“Would you rather have popcorn for dinner?” Mycroft turns to him and sees Greg is already looking at him. Both awkwardly smile at each other, each one hesitant to be the first to break away. "Shall we get started?", Mycroft asks. Greg widens his smile even more before nodding.

  
Still holding each other's gaze, Mycroft presses play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additionally, I'm super thankful for the people who comment and give constructive criticism. I think it's going to help me both at motivating myself to keep writing this and other original projects, and it would help me improve my writing. So don't worry about me getting mad or sensitive about things, because as long as the criticisms remain constructive, I'll take all of it, man. 
> 
> Everytime I get advice to improve my work, I might go back and change sentence structures (like the comment about tenses, I really do have a problem with tenses). Letting you know now so that you wouldn't be surprised if there are drastic changes.
> 
> All beautiful comments of support are printed out, tattooed on my head, or cross-stitched :))


	4. A Night of Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are still people waiting for me to update this, I'm really sorry for taking almost a year to do so. A lot of personal stuff happened, and I just couldn't find the drive to do anything. However, I'm trying to change all of that, and hopefully I can get back to loving writing again. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, if you're reading this. And I kinda want to apologise now, because this is the first time I'm writing stories again in a looong time, so there will be errors =)) As always, I appreciate comments and tips on how to get better :)

Fade to black.

Credits roll.

End.

"Can we take a 5-minute break before we start with analysis?," Greg asks quietly. The images from the film playing back in his head, like it's been screencapped for later use.

"Yes, of course. I think I need one, as well." Mycroft stands and prompts Greg to follow him to a double door further into his bedroom. It leads to a large balcony, almost as big as a deck, really. They both lie down on the loungers so they can look up. The Holmes residence isn't too far out of the city, but it's far enough that they can see the stars that blankets the night sky.

"I can't even imagine how I'd feel if I were in her shoes. She kept fighting, even in those times when she wanted to give up. I don't think I'd have enough left in me to keep going as she did." Greg's mind flips through different "what ifs" -- what if Precious didn't have the drive to keep finding reasons to live even when she kept getting bogged down? What if the people in the system, the teacher and the social worker, didn't find it necessary to get involved to help her?

Mycroft sees a plane fly past between the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. This is his favourite time; there’s something soothing about just laying under the stars, thinking, contemplating. Of course, he’s used to doing it alone. Contrary to what other people think, he isn’t unfeeling. He _can_ feel empathy towards people, he is human anyway. But certain emotions are a nuisance when making important decisions. Mycroft doesn’t want to be put in a situation where he’d have to choose between what is logically right and what _feels_ right.“Hmm, yeah. I think for Axis 1, it’s obvious she has an eating disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, maybe Social Anxiety Disorder too. For Axis 2, maybe we ca --- oh, right, 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, at least just let me digest it a bit before we get on with the homework,” Greg laughs at the blushing face of Mycroft. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional it seems. I don’t think that’ll fly in law enforcement, I’ll have to get rid of that, eventually.”

“Oh, you want to be in law enforcement?”

“I remember, when I was younger, I’d steal my dad’s cap and badge and pretend I was police. I’d lock my sister in her room because I’ve just “arrested” her for being such a bully. She’d shout and shout, ‘You’ll pay for this you little twerp’ or ‘Greg’s lock me in again, mum!.’  Our mum was livid, of course, telling us the neighbours have been complaining about the shouting. Not our dad, though. Sometimes he’d join in and pretend he’s an accomplice or the chief.”

“Your father must be beyond ecstatic you decided to follow his career.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I mean, I wouldn’t know. I never got to tell him.”

Greg turns to Mycroft, surprised to see that the other man was already looking at him with wide eyes. “I was the only one at home that night, my mum had to do overtime at work. The phone rang and it was dad, he said to tell mum he might come home late and not to wait up for him. I asked him why he’s going to be late.” Mycroft shifts to his side so that he’s fully facing Greg. He is about to tell him that he doesn’t need to continue his story if it’s going to dredge up bad memories, when Greg moves to copy Mycroft’s position, and continued. “He said, ‘Do you remember those special missions I told you about?. Well, I have one of those tonight. Dad and the police need to arrest the big baddie so we could keep everyone safe and be heroes.’

“Turns out, their intel was a fluke and they were on their way to a trap. They did become heroes, but none of them came home to tell their families about it...I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be just like my dad. And everything I’ve done and am doing now is to make sure I get to be just like him.”

To both of their surprise, Mycroft reaches out to touch his hand, “I’m sorry that happened to you. I’m sure, if he were here, he’d be happy for you.” Greg smiles at him and can only whisper his thanks. They remained in that position for a couple of minutes, then coming to his senses, Mycroft withdraws his hand and stands up. “Let’s just work on the analysis tomorrow. It’s been a tiring day. Let me show you to your rooms.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

The two walked in companionable silence, both significantly relaxed and comfortable with each other’s presence than before.

For Mycroft, this is a surprising development, considering he doesn’t exactly have anyone in his life he’d call a ‘friend’ and they’ve only just met. No one else seemed comfortable enough to open up to him. Greg doesn’t know it yet, but he changed something in him. Mycroft thinks he can actually and _finally_  be a friend to someone. Hopefully he doesn’t do anything to alienate Greg.

While Mycroft is proud of himself for finally connecting with someone else other than Sherlock, Greg is thinking about how easy it was to share his feelings. To this day, talking about his father or his personal pursuits are awkward topics he’d rather avoid. It’s always fun times when he’s with close friends, he doesn’t want to ruin it by confiding in them. Mycroft doesn’t know it yet, but he changed something in him. Greg thinks he can actually and _finally_ communicate properly with someone. Hopefully he doesn’t scare Mycroft off with sappy emotions.

Mycroft opens the door to the guest bedroom and lets Greg in first. “Well, here’s you. If you need extra pillows or blankets, just let me know. I believe they’ve already put towels and an extra toothbrush in the bathroom just in case you need them.”

“Thank you. You know, this is the most interesting sleepover I’ve ever had. I mean, other than it’s for school work, I feel light, somehow.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Definitely good. It’s the company, I think.”

Mycroft is thankful the room is quite dim or Greg would see the blush colouring his face. “Right. Good night, Greg.” He quickly turns around and walks out of the door. If he hadn’t been rushing out, he would’ve heard Greg’s chuckle and his whispered reply.

“Sweet dreams, Mycroft.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I've made a multi-axial diagnosis (like Uni days). Just so I wouldn’t risk misusing the MAD, I probably won’t go into detail about it. Anyway, I don’t think it’ll add much to the story (?) =))


End file.
